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Monday was dedicated to doing the vomiting documented in the above chart, and Tuesday’s efforts were put into creating the chart in Microsoft Paint.

I apologize for the poor graphic, but I believe it still gets the point across. What we can see from this chart is your classic mountaintop pattern – the early vomitings slowly ascending in volume, ultimately culminating in what I like to call the Crest of Expulsion, represented here by the highest point. We then see everything descend quickly after that, with the vomitings ceasing around 8:42PM. The times are all approximate of course, as I didn’t take the time to look at a clock as my inner juices were surging up my throat. I have deduced that this was the result of some sort of food poisoning, but foul play has not yet been ruled out.

Like this:

That’s right baby. Unlike 2010, when it was all about biting hookers and shooting stray dogs, this Blog is totally all about bustin’ chops in 2011. No more layin’ back and takin’ the high, hard one from society. If you mess with this Blog in 2011, please believe you have an earful headed your way. An earful of foot, that is. Because I’m going to kick you in the head. No more of this “Hey Sean, can you help me move this weekend?” Uh, how ’bout this pal, HiiiiiiiiiiiiYAAAAAAAAAAAAA! You just got B’d in the C (busted in the chop, obviously). Nobody likes helping people move! No way buddy! This here is 2011! Consider your chops……… BUSTED! Or as our French counterparts would say, “Le chopé es la büested.” The Language of Love can’t even stop me now! In 2011, I shall henceforth be known as “The Resident Expert on Busted Chops.” If you wake up in the morning, and you find some chops strewn all askew about your living room floor, why don’t you go ahead and give me a call. I’ll come over, for a nominal consultation fee of course, and be like “MmmHmm. I’ve seen it a million times. Your chops have definitely been busted. Ain’t nothin’ I can do ’bout it.” Then I’m out. I’ve got things to do, more important chops to bust. Not my problem if you alligned yourself with a situation where you got your chops busted. Your living room carpet isn’t my main priority, not this year! No way! I’ve got “real jobs” to apply for! In 2010, it was nothing but rejection, but this is a new year! Next time I hear “Your resume looked good, but we’re looking for someone with more experience,” well, that’s when the real chop busting begins! Are they prepared for me toshow up, topless, wielding my various chop busting implements, and say, “So it’s experience you want, eh? Well, have you ever experienced me giving you a noogie for three hours?” Then I’ll probably kick-punch a desk or something. Authority displayed. Chops. Busted. ‘Cause you see, all these desk-jockeys want to hear is the old company line, but what if I switch it up, and toss some real life in their face? Stuff like, “Hey, I can bring a new, youthful exuberance to this company! See, it’s all here is this Excel spreadsheet, detailing dates, times, and quantities of chops busted.” and “I’ll have you know, I could bust your chops faster than two shakes of a lamb’s tail! Do you even know what that means?! Oh, you do? I actually don’t. Could we put aside our differences for a moment so you could tell me?” Stuff like that. Then, in a tornado of flesh and gumption, I shall distribute a chop-busting that they will not soon forget.

Then, I’m just assuming they’ll shoot me down again. No big deal. This is what everyone told me would happen. I bust a mean chop, and that’s all I need to know. If someone decides to pass on my chop-bustiness in 2011, good, ’cause that saves me precious chop-busting time for all these other cocky chops. You’re not the only one with chops to bust pal! You ain’t special! I’ve busted far less appealing chops for far, far less! You’re no different! People might as well just toss their chops to me right now and let me get to bustin’, ‘cuz we both know I’m gonna get ’em eventually. Nothin’ but chop bustery in 2011.

Just for giggles, I decided to translate today’s headline into Japanese, then re-translate it back into English. What you see above is what came out. Riveting. Just riveting. Today we are going to do another recipe.

How about this. Take those ingredients, and combine them however you want. They’re all headed to the same place no matter how you eat them. Cut them all up and toss them on a plate. Put them in a blender. Substitute a kumquat for the avocado. Then stuff it into your word hole until there is nothing left because I don’t want you to waste any food. That’s it.

Like this:

As we all know, people love the simple pleasures in life. I will now talk about one of these pleasures that any man, woman, or child can relate to.

I love waking up to a sunny, breezy morning. As I step out of bed, I peel the sweat-soaked shirt off my back and step outside to face the gusty breath of the great outdoors. With my skin exposed, I let Mother Nature run her wispy fingers through the ropy strands of my luxurious back hair. Ah yes, dig in, Madre Natura. Don’t leave a single bewhiskered inch of my backside unattended. As the wind clears the perspiration from a deep sleep away, I begin to feel the heavy, saturated mass of hair grow alive and vibrant with the airy kiss of a new morning. As each fiber becomes untethered from the sweaty prison it was trapped in the previous night, I can feel it lift and flutter about in its newfound freedom. After just a few minutes, there is a flocculent whirlwind from the small of my back to the top of my spine. Yes! Don’t let it stop! Many would say love is the greatest feeling that a human can experience, yet have they ever encountered an early morning zephyr running through the forest of their back? Methinks not. The delicate dance betwixt wind and hair; the gentle tug of each strand on the skin as the breeze coaxes it skyward; the ecstasy! Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go outside.

Did you know that wearing a “thong and stubbies” is Australian for flip-flops and shorts? I learn so much everyday.

Many readers probably don’t realize this, but running a Blog like this isn’t all ass-slaps and high-fives. The more you Blog, the more you learn. The more you learn, the more the seedy underbelly of this world wide web of lies that we call the internet rears its bulbous moonface. Sometimes I get the feeling that there are a few people out there who wouldn’t mind having me out of the picture. I like being alive. I really do. It’s one of my favorite things about life. Sure, I could try to reason with any detractors, but what better way to deter their misguided efforts than to make them think that the job has already been done, either by someone else, or by accident, or the immutable hand of nature?

I began thinking of how to fake my own death, and here are the ways I was thinking of doing it:

-Make it appear as though I was poisoned by a rabid fan of this Blog. But alas, this option poses two problems – 1) This is actually assuming that there is a rabid fan of this Blog, and 2) I would need to come up with a body that looks exactly like me and has the same DNA in order for everything to look legit.

-Boat explosion. Sounds good, but again, I would need a corpse of some sort. A charred, bloated, waterlogged corpse. And also, the only boat I really have access to is my Dad’s canoe, and if that were to suddenly explode while I was out there puttering around on the water, well, that would look highly suspicious.

Those, and a multitude of other options all seemed to require a body of some sort. So my natural thought extension was this – what if I didn’t need to come up with a body?

-Kidnapping. This takes care of the body double dilema. But, assuming that you are not me, people out there will probably become worried and start searching for you. This will not help your plight of Machiavellian treachery.

-Fall into a vat of liquid hot steel, like in Terminator 2. But you’d probably have to have a friend or family member along so that someone actually sees it happen. And I’m not really sure how you would make it look like you fell in but didn’t. I also don’t think I know anyone that would willingly go to a steel mill with me. Whenever I see one on TV or in a movie it literally looks like hell on earth.

-Eaten by a bear/coyote/fire ants. This would take care of the delicious meat of my body, but I think there would still be bones left, right? And again, I wouldn’t need an entire body, but I’d have to come up with some bones or “Sean bits” that I just simply can’t sacrifice at this time.

Man, this is getting hard. I guess it’s impossible, right? Oh wait, I forgot about a little something called alkaline hydrolysis! I’m not quite sure how it works, but I believe it involves dissolving a body in some sort of lye concoction. I’ll just tell everyone that I got a hamster, it died, and I’m going to try this controversial new cremation technique on it in my bathtub. A few days pass, no one has heard from me, and I’m miles away, lurking in the shadows and wearing one of these:

My apartment gets searched, I’ve left a shoe or something next to the bathtub to make it look like I fell in, and BOOYAH! Death faked. Of course I haven’t thought about how I would get money or where I would live, because I wouldn’t be able to use my bank account. Crap. Well, there’s still some kinks in the system, but I’m kind of smart, so I’ll think of something.

Blong (Blog Song). Dave Brubeck Quartet. If you are ever having a bad day and feel like you want to fake your death, just listen to this. So so smoooth.

Like this:

Has Fox News hired Hermey, the toy-making elf with aspirations of a career in dentistry? Peter Doocy (I believe it is pronounced “Doo-she”), son of Fox News personality Steve Doocy (also pronounced “Doo-she”), joined the satirical news channel’s cast in June of 2009. Not being much of a TV-watcher, I first noticed him this morning, and when I saw that goofy, elfish face talking about grown-up stuff, I realized why I was filled with such child-like wonder and amazement when he took the screen – he looks like Hermey from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer!

As I stood on the deck during the small hours of this morning, I gazed to the West and pondered this life. Words began appearing to me — slow at first, and then, as if a dam had burst, they came pouring out, almost too fast for me to rush inside and transcribe them to paper. When all was said and done, I had this poem in front of me:

Somebody once told me

The world is gonna roll me

I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed

She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb

In the shape of an “L” on her forehead

Well, the years start coming and they don’t stop coming

Fed to the rules and I hit the ground running

Didn’t make sense not to live for fun

Your brain gets smart but your head gets —–

I had to stop there because I couldn’t think of anything to rhyme with “fun.” Even though I had run into writer’s block towards the end of the poem, I still couldn’t help thinking to myself how bright of a future I could have in poetry. A future so bright, one might even compare it to a star. Or maybe one star wouldn’t be bright enough. What if you combined all of the stars in the sky into one star, and called it something like an “All Star?” There’s another idea for a poem right there.

Anyways, you’re probably wondering where I’m going with this. Several hours after composing that poem, I was listening to the radio in the car, and a song by something called “Smash Mouth” came on. The DJ introduced the title of the song as “All Star!” What are the chances? I was just thinking about writing a poem called “All Star” not three hours before! I listened intently, and was even more flummoxed when I heard the words. They were the exact same as the ones I had written that morning! What are the chances that I would write something using the exact same words that this “Smash Mouth” character had also used, as well as having all of those words be in the exact same order?! Man, if I keep this creative streak alive, I just may be “Walkin’ On The Sun” in no time! (Another prospective poem title that I just thought of)

Blong. Still lovin’ on the polka. Lovin’ it strong. The Six Fat Dutchmen, hailing from New Ulm, MN.